


can i?

by beygood



Series: any time, any place [1]
Category: Drake (Musician) RPF, Zayn Malik (Musician) RPF
Genre: Bisexuality, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, zayn centric ficathon fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4831007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beygood/pseuds/beygood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hero worship and alcohol aren't always the best combination, but this time, they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can i?

**Author's Note:**

> loosely inspired by this prompt on the zayn!centric ficathon:  
> "zayn/drake - inspired by drake's recent bodybuilding escapades; zayn really, really likes it when his partners are bigger than him"
> 
> Here's the ficathon, if anyone's interested: http://eccentricsimply.livejournal.com/8386.html
> 
> This work is unbetaed and my first foray into fic since 2006. I hope you guys enjoy it anyway.
> 
> Oh, and halfway through writing this I decided to turn this into a series. Look out for the other parts soon-ish.
> 
> http://bizexualzayns.tumblr.com/

Before Zayn first meets Drake in Miami, his body is thrumming with so much nervous energy that he finds it hard to contain himself. In the car, he taps out a loud, irregular beat on the empty leather seat next to him until his bodyguard turns round and gives him a look that’s a mixture of fondness and irritation. Zayn flashes a crooked, apologetic grin at him and quiets down, but he doesn’t stop. He has to bleed out the distracting buzz under his skin somehow and this is the only way he can think to do it right now.

The thing is - he’s admired Drake as a musician and a person for so long that the prospect of actually getting to speak to him and chill with him blows his mind completely. He’d definitely go mad over it in the silence of the backseat so he makes as much noise as he can without being a total nuisance. When they arrive at the club and Zayn slips out into the car park, he feels a bit better about his chances of making a good impression but he’s far from confident.

They’ve arranged to meet in one of the private rooms King of Diamonds rents out to celebrity guests and when Zayn’s finally ushered into it, he doesn’t have time to prepare himself for what the night has in store. Drake and his clique are already there, drinking and clowning on each other lightheartedly. They’re a vibrant bunch, comfortable with each other in a way that reminds Zayn of how it used to be on the tour buses with his boys.

No, not his. Not anymore.

This sight of such easy camaraderie shouldn’t bring Zayn down, shouldn’t make him feel achy and anxious and like he made a mistake coming here, but it does. Luckily, they don’t give him much time to dwell on how slowly he’s adjusting to life as a solo artist. There’s a brief moment of silence before the room explodes with greetings and he’s being treated like an old friend who’s arrived late to the party. He gets hugged and clapped on the back and a glass of the most expensive champagne they could find is eased into one of his hands. They’re quite gentle with him, introducing him to their particular brand of chaos slowly but surely. It doesn’t occur to Zayn that he hasn’t met Drake properly until after he’s gotten more than a little tipsy.

The realization ushers a sliver of clarity into his alcohol fogged mind and it prompts him to finally move towards the couch where Drake is lounging. He does an alright job of appearing cool and confident until Drake directs a warm, charming smile at him. Logically, Zayn knows he must give that look to most of the people he meets, but it dazzles him so much that he can’t help but feel special in the wake of it.

For a moment, he forgets how to walk, loses control of his legs, and stumbles a bit. Zayn doesn’t doubt that he’d have ended up sprawled embarrassingly across the floor had it not been for the hand that shoots out to firmly grip his upper arm.

A delicate, pink flush blooms across his cheeks as he looks up at his savior through his lashes. Drake still has that smile on his face, though it’s accompanied by a hint of concern now.

“You good?” Drake asks, tilting his head ever so slightly. The question is simple, but it still takes Zayn ages to scrape up a proper answer to it.

“Y-yeah,” he says, voice cracking a bit. The color on his face deepens as he clears his throat. This wasn’t at all how he imagined their first interaction going, but he powers through the mortification that’s steadily advancing on him. “Yeah,” he repeats, sounding surer of himself this time. “Sorry. ‘M a little clumsy sometimes.”

Drake laughs, shrugging Zayn’s apology off easy as anything. “No worries, bro, I gotchu.” He lets go of Zayn’s arm and pats the space next to him, shifting a little so they can sit together comfortably. Once Zayn’s settled in, Drake rotates to fix him with a curious expression. “Hey,” he says, slowly, drawing the word out in a way that reminds Zayn of Harry.

“Hey,” Zayn replies, feeling shy. “Thanks for inviting me out here tonight. It means a lot.” It means more than Zayn can say, really.

When he first left One Direction, he’d feared that he’d be nothing without the band, that he’d turn out to be a footnote in the history of performers who’d made it big for a hot second before fading into obscurity post X-Factor. For years, he’d grappled with the feeling that people only cared about him in the context of the other boys. When they weren’t around, he didn’t exist. Without them, he didn’t matter.

Those thoughts - and many others that were equally unpleasant - had gnawed at him ‘till he couldn’t take it anymore. Yeah, he’d left due to stress and anxiety and because he was sick of the constant exhaustion. But, he’d also left because he needed to prove to himself that he was worth something on his own, as a solo artist and as a person. Being acknowledged by the musicians he admired was the most perfect kind of validation on both ends and Zayn was so, _so_ grateful for it.

“No problem,” Drake says, the smooth tone of his voice interrupting Zayn’s messy train of thought and bringing him back to the present. “I always thought you were the cool one, you know. Not knocking the other dudes at all, but you just seemed like the type I’d wanna chill with most. And, that’s what tonight’s about - just chilling. We don’t have to talk shop if you don’t want to.”

Hearing that floors Zayn. Up to this point, he’s assumed that Drake got in contact to talk about music - that’s what he’s been psyching himself up to do for most of the night. He hadn’t thought for a second that this is meant to be a social call. It’s nothing short of incredible to him that _Drake_ of all people is interested in getting to know him.

“Uh - okay?” He finds that his mouth’s gone dry and, without thinking, he lets his tongue slip out to wet his lips. He’s too busy being amazed and feeling humbled to notice how the other man’s dark eyes track the movement.

“You sure?” Drake asks, lightly knocking his shoulder into Zayn’s. “I’m cool with whatever you are.”

“I’m sure.” Zayn nods eagerly. He can’t imagine anything better right now.

So, they both relax and start chatting without the pretense of their work hanging over them. They spend a lot of time talking about Zayn - where he’s from, his family, what he likes - and it feels a little strange. He’s gotten used to staying quiet and listening or only answering questions about his engagement and he hasn’t broken away from that mentality just yet. Though he shouldn’t, he feels unbearably vain and spends quite a bit of time trying to flip the conversation onto Drake-related topics. The other man entertains his attempts, but always shifts the spotlight back onto him.

At some point they start talking about the things they have in common and, later on, the things they don’t. Zayn loses track of time and place as they move from laughing about crazy experiences with fans to semi-seriously talking about religion to gushing over how much they both adore Nicki Minaj.

They gravitate towards each other naturally, closing the distance between them until their knees are brushing together and Zayn is practically tucked into Drake’s side. The steady flow of alcohol keeps Zayn from becoming noticeably self-conscious about the lack of space.

Normally he doesn’t mind wrapping himself around people like an affectionate starfish, but it’s different with people he’s attracted to. As much as the media likes to paint him as ‘the mysterious bad boy’, the reality is that Zayn wears his heart on his sleeve and is terrible at hiding his feelings. He knows he’s painfully transparent even when it comes to the most insignificant of crushes, and he’s got it _bad_ for Drake. If he weren’t buzzed, he’d be tensed up and worrying about letting his secret slip or making things weird, but because he is, he’s perfectly content with the configuration of their bodies.

As the night trickles on, the room clears out and, just after midnight, they’re left all alone. Zayn notices this only peripherally, too busy being completely wrapped up in the wonderful, complex layers that make up Aubrey Drake Graham to process the implications of their isolation.

It’s only when they get around to talking about relationships and Drake casually mentions the men he’s fucked that Zayn hones in on just how _close_ they are.

“You’ve - with _blokes_?” Zayn asks, feeling lightheaded and incredulous.

“Uh huh.” And, Drake’s not ashamed to admit it at all. “You?”

Zayn stammers, desperately clawing for the right thing to say. He settles on an honest denial, but he doesn’t feel satisfied with it at all.

“No …” He trails off, brows knitting together as he frets over how much he should say and exactly where this is going. “It was hard to try anything between touring and working on the albums and promo. Even without all that, there was the engagement.”

Not that his ring ever stopped him from stepping out on Perrie. When he got reckless and was feeling particularly self-destructive, he didn’t think twice about getting blitzed and pulling any bird that was interested. So, really, it’s shitty for him to continue to use the commitment that he willingly broke with other women as an excuse for his inexperience with men.

Zayn also knows he can’t use his engagement as a convenient explanation for these things any longer. It’s dishonest and unfair to both of them, but especially to Perrie. He’s not proud of his behavior at all and has accepted that he’s got a lot to make up for with her. His atonement, however, won’t be resolved tonight.

“If I’m honest, it was more about being scared than any of that. I thought about it loads, though.” Drake makes a low, contemplative noise at his confession, looking Zayn over with an intensity that makes him shiver. Slowly, he inches one of his hands over Zayn’s thigh, testing the waters and silently asking, _‘is this okay?’_

He gets his answer when Zayn stills and looks up at him, wide-eyed and curious.

“Can I ask what you thought about?”

Zayn sucks in a sharp breath at that, still caught off guard despite his anticipation.

“I -” He stops the words as quickly as they start, swallowing thickly around a response that would give away entirely too much.

“You don’t have to tell me, not if it makes you uncomfortable -”

“‘M not uncomfortable,” Zayn says quickly. “It’s just … surely you don’t actually wanna hear any of that?”

Drake chuckles and it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle in the most precious way. “Baby boy, do you have any idea how fucking _fine_ you are?”

Zayn opens his mouth with the intention of protesting, but his indignation dies down when Drake shakes his head firmly.

“Nah, don’t give me any of that. I’ve seen some of the shit you post on Instagram. You know you’re beautiful, and you know everyone who’s ever seen you knows it, too. The false modesty is bullshit. In any case ...” he shifts his hand further up Zayn’s thigh, getting dangerously close to where the seam of his trousers meets his crotch. “I do want to hear it. Indulge me.”

Zayn screws his eyes shut for a moment, unable to believe that this is really happening. There’s no way that he isn’t back in his bed in LA and that this isn’t some amazingly vivid dream. It isn’t _possible_. But, when he opens his eyes again everything is as it was. He’s still in Miami, still in the club, still with Drake.

“Shit,” he murmurs, feeling hopeless. “I’ve never - I don’t know _how_ -”

Drake ducks in close and lets his breath ghost over the shell of Zayn’s ear. “Let me show you.” It doesn’t sound like he’s asking, but Zayn knows he is, can tell because he doesn’t move until he hears Zayn breathe out a “ _yes_.”

There’s a beat before Drake wraps an arm around his waist and hoists him up into his lap like he weighs nothing. Zayn gasps at the sudden stretch he feels in his narrow hips when he’s properly straddling the man beneath him. The sensation has his cock fattening up in trousers fast and he’s sure Drake can feel it. His brain gears itself up to feel embarrassed about his arousal, but Drake doesn’t give him the chance because as soon as Zayn’s settled, he cups the back of his head and draws him in for a kiss.

It starts out chaste, but it doesn’t remain that way for long. Zayn’s keyed up and eager and he _wants_. When he finds that kissing a man isn’t at all different from what he’s used to, he experiences a surge of confidence. He presses the palms of his hands against Drake’s shoulders and curls his fingers over them, pulling their bodies closer together and deepening the kiss.

Once their lips are slick and sliding together smoothly, Zayn flicks his tongue out experimentally, tracing the shape of the other man’s mouth with it. Drake groans and lets his lips part, encouraging the exploration.

Zayn wants to please him, wants to make Drake feel as good as he’s feeling, so he goes for it without shame, grinding his hips down as he slips his tongue inside. Drake swears incoherently against his mouth and he takes that as a sign he’s doing well. The hardness he feels pressed against his own serves as a pretty indication, too.

He has to pull away eventually to breathe, but he does so reluctantly. He pants open-mouthed through red, kiss swollen lips without the slightest idea of how obscene he looks.

“ _Fuck_ , baby, can I?”

He’s clueless as to what Drake’s asking of him, but he knows that whatever it is, he’ll give it up.

“ _Please_ ,” he whines, pitching forward to nuzzle at the older man’s neck, dragging his lips across the skin there and breathing in the scent of his cologne.

Drake worms his free hand in between them, managing to undo Zayn’s fly and push enough offending material out of the way to slide his cock out without unseating him. It’s a testament to his experience, if nothing else. He’ll be impressed with that another time, though, because he can’t really think about anything other than coming with Drake’s hand wrapped around him.

With nothing more than spit and precum to ease the way, it’s rough and dirty and Zayn _loves_ it. His fingers are digging into Drake’s shoulders so hard that it must be painful now, but he doesn’t complain, just pumps his fist over Zayn’s cock that much faster.

Zayn groans right up into his ear and bucks his hips in time with the rhythm the other man’s set, desperately chasing after his orgasm.

“Oh Christ, I’m gonna -” Zayn chokes out as Drake twists his fist over the head of his dick just right.

“Go ‘head, baby boy. Wanna see you cum. Bet you look so fucking pretty doing it -” Whatever else he says is lost to the air of the room, drowned out by the blood rushing through Zayn’s ears and the sound of his own loud, high pitched cry as he arches his back and comes messily into Drake’s fist.

Drake doesn’t stop until he’s whimpering and squirming because of the oversensitivity. Only then does he tuck Zayn’s length back into his boxer-briefs.

Zayn expects him to wipe his hand off on the couch but it seems that he intends to surprise Zayn at every turn. Instead, Drake eases away from Zayn enough to bring his sticky hand up to his mouth and he _licks_ , holding Zayn’s gaze as he does it.

Zayn blushes furiously and lets out a sound that is a mix of confused and aroused, unable to tear his eyes away (not that he wants to). Drake licks Zayn’s cum off his hand slowly and deliberately and when he’s done he presses their mouths together again, giving Zayn a taste of himself.

It’s not unpleasant, but he still can’t understand why the other man would be interested in doing _that_. For now, he won’t question it. There are more important things to focus on, like the fact that Drake hasn’t gotten off yet.

“Let me,” Zayn says, reaching for the button on his jeans. Before he can make his move, Drake’s clean hand is batting his away.

“This was just about you, baby.” Zayn’s noise of protest is hushed by the pressure of Drake’s thumb against his bottom lip. “S’fine. Only thing I planned on doing tonight was showing you a good time.”

Still, Zayn feels selfish and his discontent must show on his face because Drake lets out an amused snort before giving Zayn a long, placating kiss. “I just want you to be sure that you want more with me.”

Zayn is pretty fucking sure already, but he doesn’t push it. Drake seems to be prioritizing his comfort higher than anything else and he ought to appreciate that. By his own admission he doesn’t know what he’s doing here and neither of them are in a position where they can take this lightly. As much as he wants to, he can’t rush into this. He has to be sure for the both of them. He nods to show he understands.

“I’m not gonna be in Miami much longer, but I’ll give you my number and when you decide you can call me. Any time, any place.”

“Okay,” Zayn promises, feeling giddy. “Okay.”


End file.
